


Lost & Found

by apollojolras



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, M/M, One Shot, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:55:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollojolras/pseuds/apollojolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian finds a picture of a very young Jim in his office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost & Found

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue with this one, it can technically connect to a series that I will post in the future but right now it's a stand alone. Thank you if you choose to read.
> 
> ~  
> Hey, I reread this since I posted it and discovered an unnerving amount of errors, so I edited a bit. Thanks for reading!

Sebastian would not describe himself as an errand boy. He took pride in his work, whether it be interrogation, intimidation, deformation, or assassination. He cherished several military grade weapons of choice. He catered to the whims of a psychopathic consulting criminal. But he also did many other things. The experience of being employed by Moriarty could be described, in brief, as unpredictable. There were enough bastards in the world in desperate need of a knife to carve a new watering can for the pavement out of their face, or a bullet to blow out the back of their skull to keep Sebastian satisfied, but there was also arguing across continents via email, installing cameras in museum galleries, flirting his way into policemen's back pockets and growling threats over the phone to a disdainful Vietnamese chef until he agreed to deliver rice noodles _and_ the egg rolls for no extra charge. It could never be what he expected when he reluctantly agreed to the job, but there was nothing like it anywhere else.

And there was also his boss. His  _Jim_. There were manilla folders full of pictures of people he had the honor of murdering. There was a library that Jim gave him on his birthday and toast for breakfast on Thursdays and sex in the shower. And sometimes, there were _secrets_ that he had the priveledge of discovering the truth to.

He opened the door to Jim's office, sent to retrieve some file immediately because apparently the fate of all of the jewels in Elizabeth's crown depended on him finding the file  _right now_. He sighed, annoyed, when he saw how cluttered the desk and surrounding areas were; papers and books adorned every available flat surface. He scanned the desk in hopes of seeing an orange corner poking out from under  something, but his eyes were met with at least three maps of Paris ( _seriously Jim?_ ), the blueprints of a bank vault, and what appeared to be the entirety of War and Peace in the original language in a haphazard stack of handwritten paper. He carefully shifted some things onto the floor, not wanting to have papers flying all over the bloody room, when he spotted what he sought. As he snatched it from its place, a polaroid photo came with it, falling to the floor at Sebastian's feet.

"What the-?"

The picture appeared to be very old. Not only were the edges creased and yellowed, but the photo caught the face of his boss, and Jim was young.  _Jesus Christ_ , he thought,  _he looks about seventeen. Must've_ _been taken in Ireland._ The most bizarre thing about it was that Jim had a huge grin lighting up his whole face, laughing at whoever was holding the camera. His eyes were bright, shining in a way that Sebastian had never sen them. Jim was...happy, but not always. His smiles were small. Reserved. He'd never seen Jim's face so alive and bright like this. He cleared his throat and schooled his features when he felt a grin pulling at his own mouth.  _Whoever's holding that camera is a lucky bastard_ , he thought, almost bitterly. It was a very rare occasion indeed that Jim talked to him about his past. He could only assume it wasn't happy, since he'd been told that most of the Moriarty's were dead.

Sebastian picked up the file he'd been sent for and left the office, slipping the polaroid into his jacket. He wondered if Jim would tell him about Ireland if he asked. He wondered if Jim would get angry if he knew he took the photo.

He sprawled on the couch, opening a beer on the edge of the mahogany coffee table and ignoring the match on telly while he licked crumbs off his fingers. A plate of toast and the all-important file awaited his boss on the island in the kitchen, because Sebastian didn't need an excuse to make toast. The door to the flat opened and slammed shut; Sebastian smiled when he heard his boss grumbling in the entryway. Jim breezed past him, his fingers brushing over Sebastian's lips as he zeroed in on the toast.  _And completely ignoring the folder, I see. Figures._

"Oh thank God, I haven't had anything all day."

He turned back to the telly, smirking. "I know."

Jim sat next to him, pressed shoulder to knee, and ate; Sebastian relaxed as he felt all of the stress and tension leak out of Jim's body. He didn't need to speak, he needed to let Jim lean against him for a moment. _Just for a moment_. 

"What's that?"

He almost startled when his boss spoke, breaking the serenity of their shared breaths in the room. He turned to see that Jim was staring at Sebastian's hands, and upon looking down, he discovered the photo, almost forgotten. He cleared his throat and handed it to Jim.

"It's, uh-it's a picture of you that I found. On your desk."

Jim said nothing, his body going rigid as he stared at the picture in his hand. The other found Sebastian's sleeve, crushing it between his fingers until the knuckles turned white.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, carefully. His answer was a heavy silence. He tried again. "I'm-I'm sorry I took it, you just look so happy in it, and I--"

"This isn't of me." Jim interrupted, his voice loud over Sebastian's soft words.

"I don't understand."

Jim took his time in forming a reply. His eyes wandered everywhere, but they refused to alight on the picture in his hand or Sebastian's worried eyes. The silence stretched farther, and Sebastian held his breath, almost surprised that he could hear his heart beating. The sound was interrupted by a whisper.

"I took this photograph."

Sebastian said nothing, glancing at the picture and then back at his boss' face.  _What?_ Even with the age difference, and the dissimilar facial expressions, the boy in the polaroid and the face before him were a perfect match. There was no way that it wasn't Jim in the picture. He reached out to place his hand over Jim's, a little panicked that the photo had triggered such a reaction. He looked between them again. They were identical. 

 _Identical_.

He stopped, and he froze, forgetting to breathe or think or look away from Jim's face. 

_This isn't of me. I took this photograph._

All at once Sebastian realized too much about a young James Moriarty a thousand years away who lived on an estate in Ireland. He gripped Jim's hand tighter, smothering the " _What happened to him?_ " clawing its way up his throat when its taste turned his tongue bitter. His boss' eyes stared straight ahead, seeing though walls and buildings and cloudy air to nothing. It was the look of a man who has lost a limb, or half of his soul.

He didn't want to hear Jim's voice right now, not to cry, or to curse, or to answer the question that he was afraid to ask. But Sebastian could read Jim's mind anyway. He could hear the unspoken thought.

_He died._


End file.
